


comfortable silence is so overrated

by wesawbears



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, True Love, Truth Serum, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesawbears/pseuds/wesawbears
Summary: Jaskier is content to pine after Geralt in relative silence and with only mild complaining. A witch with a truth spell has other plans for him.--In which Jaskier drinks a truth spell, Geralt is exasperated, and midsummer festivities lead to some realizations.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 478
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	comfortable silence is so overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang. FANTASTIC art by the incredible @crocro-dyle on tumblr (crocro.dyle on Instagram). 
> 
> This was a journey to write, but I hope you all enjoy!

If pressed, Jaskier would insist that his current predicament wasn't even in the top five of the worst problems he’d experienced in his life. Granted, it hadn't been a particularly long life so far, and it very well might fit into the top ten, but he could ignore that. It would be fine.

It started in an inn, where he was playing in exchange for some ale and easy coin. The villagers were celebrating some kind of summer festival- growth, sunlight, longer days, the whole bit. People had full bellies, full hearts, and most importantly, full purses and Jaskier was nothing if not an opportunist.

Amongst the cheer, Jaskier certainly wasn't unused to receiving the odd trinket in place of coin. He accepted them just as graciously. He wasn't ashamed to admit he liked pretty, shiny things, even if those pretty, shiny things sometimes (often) got him into trouble. After all, how was he to know which rings had been in the family for centuries?

On this occasion, there's a lovely woman who hands him a blue potion, in a lovely vial on a lovelier silver chain. 

"For your voice," she says, "so it may always ring clear."

He grins. "Thank you, my dear lady. Blessed by the solstice, no doubt?"

The woman gives a nod and a smile, and bows out of the way, pushed aside by more eager admirers. In retrospect, he probably should have figured that it was some cryptic witch shit, but Jaskier had always been trusting and curious, and his hindsight was a far bit more clever than his nature.

So, instead of just leaving the vial somewhere innocuous, or giving it to Geralt (who would no doubt ruin it), he pocketed it. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like he was going to drink it.

That should have been the end of it. In truth, by the next day, he had completely forgotten it was even in his pack. But as he trudged after Geralt, who pressed on despite the sun beating down on them, he feels he is positively going to melt. Summer blessings, his shapely bottom.

Despite his complaints, Jaskier was determined not to miss this hunt. He hadn't yet seen Geralt fight this particular creature, and Toss a Coin was just itching for a new verse. So, he ignores Geralt when he tells him to stop complaining and go back to the inn. It was easy for him to say Jaskier was being dramatic when the witcher wasn't even walking, and had an internal temperature regulator or...something. Regardless, he knew Geralt well enough by now to know that he'd be grumpy in Jaskier's position too.

Heaving another loud sigh in Geralt's direction, he reaches into his pack and pulls out his canteen, taking a healthy swig of it before pausing. The water tasted oddly sweet and left him smacking his lips. For a moment, he worries that something got in it, but when he peered down, he found that he wasn't holding his canteen at all, but the vial from the night before.

His eyes widen in alarm, but he tries not to panic, mostly because he would rather drink mud full of drowner's brains than admit such a mistake to Geralt. He wracks his brain, trying to remember what the woman had told him. She said it was for his voice. A tonic, maybe?

He opens his mouth to sing some scales, but what comes out instead is, "I lied about the chill in the room last night."

Why- why the fuck did he say that? He presses a hand to his throat, grateful he can't see Geralt's face.

At first, it blessedly seems like he hasn't heard, but sure enough, after a moment he says, "So why are you telling me now?"

"I didn't mean to say that!" he cries.

Geralt grunts. "Thinking before you speak helps, bard."

"No, Geralt, I mean I actually do not know why I said that. It just- flew out of me!"

At that, Geralt pulls Roach to a stop and turns to look at him. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I did nothing!" Geralt blinks at him, disbelieving and he falters. "I did nothing on purpose."

"Jaskier," he says slowly, "what. Did you do?"

Jaskier curses under his breath. "I...may have accidentally drank a potion instead of water."

Geralt takes a deep breath, clearly debating the merits of leaving Jaskier on the side of the road. "What kind of potion?"

"A blue one?" 

"Jaskier," Geralt growls.

"I don't actually know. A woman gave it to me yesterday at the inn. She said it would...help my voice. I don't know! I wasn't intending to drink it."

"You took a potion from someone without asking about its contents."

"...yes."

Geralt sighs. "Once we get back to town, we'll find a mage. Try not to die in the meantime."

They didn't speak for most of the journey, with Geralt directing his frustration at the monster of the day. Despite his previous excitement at being near the fight, Jaskier can't focus enough to take any useful notes. Geralt emerges, predictably covered in monster blood and mud. He wipes his sword clean and Jaskier swallows hard. It was always difficult to keep from saying things he shouldn't when he saw Geralt like this.

Only this time, when he tried to hold back his natural reaction, he felt like he was choking on his tongue. The more time passed, the more his air felt constricted- or rather, like something was clawing at him, trying to get to the surface, bubbling under the skin-

"Your eyes aren't scary when you drink the potions. I actually rather like it."

The pressure in his throat abated, but his stomach lurched as he realized what he said. Ahead of him, Geralt paused in his ministrations.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier starts. "I really didn't mean to say all that. It must be-"

"The vial," Geralt gravels. "I know."

Jaskier nods. "Not that it isn't true, of course. You've never scared me."

Geralt swallows and sighs. "You must have been given a truth potion."

"But I'm not compelled to answer truthfully. Ask me something!"

"What did you do when you woke up?"

Jaskier thought up a lie. "I touched my toes." He grins. "Aha! I can still lie. I did no such thing."

Geralt simply hmms. "Then it's not about lying." He pauses. "What exactly did the person who gave you this say to you?"

"She said it was for my voice. So it would always ring clear."

"It's trying to get you to admit something."

"But- why? She had never met me. I remember all the lovely ladies I go off with. I'm a very courteous lover-"

He's silenced by the look on Geralt's face.

"My point is, what could she want with me?"

Geralt shrugs. "It's midsummer. People always do strange things at this time."

Jaskier suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew what the witch wanted him to admit. Midsummer was about fertility, abundance- love magic. And Jaskier was very much in love with Geralt.

For now, he still had a prayer that Geralt hadn't figured it out, but with him blurting his thoughts out all day, who knew how long that would last?

Geralt interrupts his musing. "It can't matter too much. You already say everything that pops into your head. Maybe there's a lesson for you, bard."

Jaskier laughs nervously. "Maybe so, my dear witcher."

\--

For all his chattering and the way he wore his heart on his sleeve, Jaskier did in fact have his secrets. He wasn’t particularly good at hiding things, but he’d learned early on in their travels that Geralt required a subtle hand. Their first experience together had landed Jaskier with a broken lute and a punch to the gut, but he was willing to admit when he’d come on too strong. 

But, for whatever reason, Geralt hadn’t abandoned him by that mountainside. He’d let Jaskier take him back to the tavern and even stayed while he debuted “Toss a Coin”. Jaskier had never understood what had made him change his mind about letting him tag along, but clearly he must have done something right, because morning came and Geralt shook him awake, letting him know with a grunt that they were leaving and that Jaskier was apparently expected to follow. And so it went.

Jaskier fell in love easily. The trick was staying in love. At first, he figured that his infatuation with Geralt would wane after some time apart, but he was quick to find just how wrong he was when he spent the entire winter at Oxenfurt pining and writing lovelorn ballads about a figure with white hair and amber eyes. When they’d met again in the spring, Jaskier felt his heart leap in his chest at the sight of Geralt, looking as rested as he could hope for and knew that this wasn’t a tryst he was likely to shake any time soon.

It was the kind of story that had entranced him since he was young. The pining, the dashing but emotionally unavailable hero, drawn out of his shell by the young ingenue. Unfortunately, Jaskier wasn’t so young as to think that things would work out like they did in the stories. The walls around Geralt’s heart were thick, and Jaskier had done the stupid thing and become friends with Geralt as well. Losing lovers was one thing, but Jaskier had precious few friends and wasn’t eager to lose the closest one he’d had in a long time. Geralt wouldn’t be cruel if he learned his true feelings, but things would be distant. He couldn’t risk that. He would rather have Geralt in his life as a friend than lose him entirely. Now it seemed he may have no choice.

His lovelorn musing has the intended effect, and Jaskier loses track of both time and his aching feet until Geralt draws Roach to a halt. He looks up and sees that they’ve reached a cottage. It’s humble and covered in vines, with a reasonably sized garden out front that Jaskier recognizes as the mark of a healer, with rare ingredients surrounding the grounds. It’s a modest place, but if the person inside can undo the magic’s effects, he wouldn’t care if they lived in a cave.

“Is this it?” he asks, more to fill the silence than anything. He watches Geralt dismount Roach and accepts that his friend is not in a chatty mood. “After you, I guess,” Jaskier mumbles to himself.

There’s a woman gathering herbs along the side of the house and Geralt resorts to his usual tactic of standing and waiting to be noticed. Jaskier rolls his eyes and speaks, not wanting the sight of a Witcher staring down at her to scare the poor woman half to death just because Geralt couldn’t be bothered to use his words.

“Good afternoon, fair lady! Could you spare us a moment of your time?”

She straightens up, tossing her auburn hair back from where it stuck to her forehead. “Depends on what you’re here for, I suppose. But I can do my best.” She wipes the dirt off her hands onto her dress before standing. 

“Thank you, dear lady....”

“Marla.” She looks them up and down. “And you hardly need introduction.”

Jaskier grins and looks to Geralt, who rolls his eyes at his satisfaction. Jaskier brushes his disdain off easily. “Marla. Lovely to meet you. How much experience do you have with magical potions?”

Marla raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t laugh in his face or turn back to her garden, so he assumes all is not lost. She leads them inside and addresses them while washing her hands off in a basin.

“I’m no mage. I’m not sure if there’s much I can do to reverse what’s happened to you. But if you explain what happened, I might know someone who can help, or at the very least, have something to assuage your symptoms.”

“My deepest gratitudes,” Jaskier starts, taking the remainder of the potion from Geralt. “I was given this by a woman during the solstice festivities. I drank some by mistake and now I seem...compelled to tell the truth.”

She nods, taking a closer look at the vial. “At the solstice festival?” She glances at Geralt for some reason, face imperceptible. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes. She said something about my voice ringing clear.”

“Solstice magic is powerful. Especially when it extends to love. You probably called out to any mage within the area, if you were performing any of your love ballads.”

Geralt hmms softly at that and Jaskier scoffs. “It is my job, after all.”

“Yes...but is there sincerity behind your words?”

Jaskier feels Geralt’s eyes on him and forces a smile. “I wouldn’t be a very good bard if I didn’t buy what I was selling, at least a little.”

“I suppose not. But it likely made you a beacon for those looking to enhance their spells. A compelled love confession would make spells very potent.”

Jaskier stifles a panicked laugh and uses his years of training to look positively jovial. “Well, luckily, my heart is unmoored.” He felt the lie settling painfully in his chest, squeezing at his ribs. “My one true love remains myself.”

Marla seems unconvinced, but Jaskier doesn’t need to convince her, only Geralt. His relief is broken by a painful, shuddering cough, which produces with it a dribble of blood. He brings his hand up to his mouth, catching Geralt’s eye.

“What can be done?” Geralt asks, concern settling in his voice. Jaskier’s heart skips. If Geralt is worried, he must be badly off.

Marla tuts. “It should wear off at the end of the solstice. Until then, the only thing that will lessen the pain is sharing truth. It’s a shame you aren’t in love. Telling the object of your affection would probably do the trick faster.” She gives Jaskier a knowing look, which he brushes off.

“It’s not the most pleasant, but as long as I’m not at death’s doorstep, I’m sure I’ll manage. Thank you so much for your help-” he takes a step and feels it like a knife in his ribs. “Fuck.”

Marla smirks. “It’s not deadly, but it’s not likely to be pleasant, and you’re dead on your feet as is. If you’d like, I have a spare room for you to lay up in while the magic runs its course. If you can pay, of course.”

She smiles sweetly at Geralt who sighs and hands over a few coins, which Marla tucks away neatly in her apron. “Wonderful. Extra room is through there. It’s not much, but I imagine you’ve stayed in worse.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, “You’ve been a delightful help.”

She nods and sends him one last look, which he cheerfully ignores. 

Once settled in the room, Jaskier relaxes on the bed. This wouldn’t be that bad. Just a day laid up, having to occasionally share secrets with Geralt.

A day with nothing to do but tell secrets to Geralt. Without telling him he was in love.

What could go wrong?

\--

All hopes of being able to hold the spell off with petty secrets dwindle after a few hours. Jaskier had told Geralt of his most embarrassing trysts, including the time when he accidentally broke his nose undressing before sex. He told about all of the little things that annoyed him when traveling with Geralt; his snores, the sullen silences- even, eventually, how he hated when Geralt made him stay at the inn.

“I’m always worried you won’t come back. I feel terribly like a woman whose husband has left for the war.” He hadn’t meant to add the last part, but hopefully Geralt takes it as a joke instead of the truth it is.

Geralt looks at him thoughtfully. “I thought you just wanted to see the action for yourself. Since I’m- what did you call it? Stingy with the details?”

Jaskier smiles a little at that. “You are! Terribly, infuriatingly so. And I do believe I’m owed more than one story after this in full.” He pauses as Geralt grimaces. Gods forbid the man have to say more than a few words. “But I really do worry about you. You’re my friend. Even if you’re all...witchery. You’re not invincible.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes at his standard non-answer. “You know I’m right.”

“It’s my job. I’ve been doing this a long time and I’ve managed to keep myself alive.”

“Miracle of miracles,” Jaskier mutters under his breath.

Geralt chuckles under his breath and Jaskier feels it like a punch to the gut. He starts to laugh but it comes out like a thin wheeze. The words "I love you" bubble on his tongue, tickle deep in his throat. It would be so easy to say, three words. If Marla was to be trusted, saying it might even relieve him of the feeling inside him, the burning pressure. It might even be worth it.

But the fear of Geralt recoiling, or worse, looking at him with dismissive pity stayed his tongue. He would be kind about it, he thinks. He doesn’t believe that Geralt would scream at him, not over this. Geralt could be brusque and get irritated with Jaskier at times, but he wasn’t cruel. He would likely just pack his things away in the night and be gone come morning.

He pushes through the feeling, coughing and wheezing, and when he lifts his head the pillow below him has a patch of blood.

“That was unfortunate,” he says, trying to laugh it off, but his voice sounds too cracked to be sincere.

Geralt, predictably, doesn’t laugh and has his eyes trained on the blood spot.

“Geralt…”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself.”

“I- what?” Jaskier says, a bit affronted. “Yes, Geralt, I so love choking on my own throat that I willingly drank a potion. Thank you for your help.”

Geralt makes a frustrated noise. “No- I mean- why not just say it?”

“Say what, Geralt?” he asks, trying to keep his voice from rising in pitch.

Geralt’s jaw works and Jaskier is sure he can hear his own heart as clearly as Geralt at this point. When Geralt doesn’t answer, he tries again, gentling his voice. “Geralt? Say what?”

“Why not just say that you think you love me?”

Jaskier can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles up from his throat, causing another coughing fit before he can respond. Geralt moves to help him sit up, but Jaskier pushes him away. Part of him feels guilty, knowing that reaching out like this isn’t Geralt’s normal reaction and that he’s trying. But he can’t look at him, can’t stand to see the pity, the revulsion, that’s sure to be there.

Geralt reaches again to- look at him? Clean his face? Brush his hair back? Jaskier isn’t sure of the intention behind Geralt’s hand reaching toward him, but he pushes his hand away and burrows his face further into the pillows. He feels like he did as a child, throwing a tantrum, but just like then, it’s his last defense. He feels raw and like he’s on display and while he loves attention, he loves it on his terms. Part of him knows that he became so loud as a way to avoid rebuke. As long as he was heard, when people criticized him, he knew how to rebuff them.

But Geralt had a way of tearing that down, of laying Jaskier’s faults bare. Being around Geralt forced Jaskier to be honest in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. And it made him suddenly angry, because why was it fair for him to be forced to say every humiliating thought he had when Geralt could hide behind his wall and his witchering?

His reverie is interrupted by Geralt, reaching for him again, hand hovering above his shoulder. “Jaskier-”

“No-I won’t say it, I can’t-”

“Why? Damn it, Jaskier, why is it worth dying over?”

“Because it’s mine!”

Geralt pulls back at that. “Your pride?”

“Do you know how it feels to have your heart on a platter? It’s the last secret I haven’t had to give away” Haven’t given to you, his mind adds unhelpfully

Geralt nods. “So you’re- ashamed?”

“No-Geralt, no,” Jaskier says, horrified. “Of course that’s how you would take it- I’m not ashamed to- love you.”

“Then what?”

“I’m- well, it feels rather uneven doesn’t it? Unrequited love never feels good.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs. “Geralt, I just bared my whole fucking soul. Can I have something more than a “hmm”?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Jaskier wants him to say a lot of things, but he chooses to stick with what he feels likely to actually get. “What changed your mind about letting me tag along?”

That clearly wasn’t what Geralt expected him to ask. “Your-when you said that respect didn’t make history. It showed you weren’t a fool.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “This all feels very one-sided. You know I have to tell you.”

Geralt glances at his bag. “Do you want me to drink some of the potion?”

“What?”

“Would you feel better if I drank some of the potion too?”

“You would do that?”

Geralt nods slowly. "I don't know if it would affect me the same way. But I'm willing to try if it would...make us even."

Jaskier considers the offer. It seems like all he's ever wanted, held directly out in front of him. He'd always wanted Geralt to give him more details, to let him see behind the layers of walls that Geralt kept to protect himself. But then, he thought of his own predicament, of the feeling of being laid before Geralt, all his pining and faults, and thinks that however uncomfortable it was for him, it would likely feel tenfold for Geralt, who believed himself emotionless, but felt more deeply than anyone Jaskier had ever met.

"No. That's alright."

Geralt nods with a slight tilt of his head. "You realize you're passing up an opportunity for all the secrets you've ever wanted."

Jaskier lays his hand atop Geralt's, ignoring for now the way Geralt flinches, from surprise or disgust. "Which is why I could never ask that of you, my friend. Anything you tell me- it's a privilege. I could never live with myself if I took advantage of that." 

Geralt hums at that. "I haven't known you to be the honorable type."

Jaskier throws his head back and laughs. "Gods forbid! No, I think you're the only one I've considered being honorable towards. But also, a secret freely given feels better than a forced one. And, any story you’re likely to give under the potion would be very facts only, most likely, without my artist’s touch.”

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier knows Geralt well enough at this point to know that he’s not dismissing him. The silence allows him to consider what Geralt said earlier.

“You said I only think I love you?”

Geralt continues looking at the sheet, apparently very preoccupied with a loose thread. Jaskier huffs and is taken by another wave of pain. Gods be damned, he had already poured out his feelings. What else did the spell require? Surely it couldn’t be tied to them both? Then again, he’s abruptly reminded that he hasn’t actually said the damned words yet. Bloody specific curse.

Geralt, for his part, looks concerned and moves closer, helping Jaskier sit up to alleviate the pressure he feels. “Jaskier-” he pauses briefly. “Jaskier, I’ve seen you fall in love with everyone you meet. Hundreds of people. Maybe I’m one of them. But I can’t give you what others can. I’m not fool enough to think that you won’t seek that out eventually. You don’t need me, and I wouldn’t want you to.”

It’s a call back to their conversation from before the fateful banquet, before Geralt had stormed away from him and his child surprise, and his obligations. He knew Geralt well enough to know that it was himself he was running from, not any of them. But while he couldn’t control how Geralt reacted to that situation, or how Geralt felt about himself, he could make sure he knew where the two of them stood.

“We’re well past that, if you haven’t noticed.” When Geralt only grunts in response, Jaskier for once quits wasting his time on words and speaks a language that might get through to Geralt. He presses his lips to Geralt’s in a rush, before he can change his mind. 

He feels Geralt tense under him, but eventually he relaxes under Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier’s imagined kissing Geralt what feels like thousands of times. He’s thought about Geralt pushing him against trees, taking control of the kiss, or of the passion of being pulled in before Geralt embarks on some dangerous contract. He’s thought about confessions and romance and a multitude of ways that this could happen. None of them compare to the way it feels when he feels Geralt open up under his mouth, surprisingly soft. 

They pull away and the look on Geralt’s face breaks his heart, and Jaskier reaches forward to press his lips to his temple.

“I don’t think I love you. I know I do. I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you. But I’ll say it every day until you believe me.”

Geralt nods, not looking convinced. “You should rest. Hopefully the spell’s worn off by the morning.”

Jaskier waits for more, but Geralt turns away, settling on his side. Jaskier rests his hand on his shoulder. “Geralt?”

“I love you.”

“Sleep, bard.”

Jaskier huffs, but settles against his own pillow, back pressed against Geralt’s. He’d imagined saying the words to Geralt in his mind, and while it’s not the fairy tale he’s thought of, it isn’t a nightmare either. It’s impossibly Geralt, and whatever happens, he’ll settle for keeping Geralt in his life. He just wishes he could have him fully. He’s always been greedy like that.

He’s so consumed in his melancholy, he doesn’t realize how the pressure in his chest has lightened.

\--

Jaskier wakes and grumbles as the world around him makes its presence known. He’s shared sleeping spaces with Geralt enough to know that he’s ideal for staying warm, but a terror in the wam summer months. He kicks the blankets off of his legs and flings one arm dramatically out to his side. He hears a chuckle and cracks an eye open. Greeting him is the sight of Geralt resting on a forearm.

“How long have you been staring at me?” Jaskier asks, rubbing a hand over his eyes before throwing his arm over them to block the light.

“Few minutes. You were kicking me.”

“That is slander, and I will not stand for it,” he answers without moving his arm.

Geralt didn’t respond, and at first Jaskier thought he would have to keep the conversation going. He’s interrupted in his thoughts by Geralt’s finger running over his ribs.

“Hey!” he squeaks. “Stop it, you...brute!”

Geralt hums and withdraws his hand, allowing Jaskier to reclaim his dignity and sit up. “You are awful.”

“Traveled with you long enough to know you’ll sleep til noon if I let you.”

“Some of us are mere mortals and have need of things like sleep, I’ll have you know.”

“I know, Jaskier.” At that, Geralt sounds more characteristically somber and Jaskier turns to look at him.

“Come, none of that. No brooding before breakfast.”

Geralt hums at that and moves his legs off the bed, resolved to gather their things. 

“I don’t feel like my throat is ripping itself apart anymore. In case you’re interested.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, his only tell the way his hands falter slightly over their packs.

“Spell must have lifted, like Marla said.”

“Happened overnight?”

“Guess so,” Jaskier answers, sitting on the table next to their things. Geralt spares him a glance, but doesn’t elaborate.

Jaskier sighs. “So, we’re just going to continue on as we have? Not talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” Geralt says, turning away before Jaskier catches him by the elbow to stop him.

“Geralt. I meant what I said.”

“I know. Not as though you could lie.”

“So?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Jaskier fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt as he pulls it on. “Is this it then? Parting ways?”

“You want to leave,” Geralt says simply.

Jaskier huffs. “I don’t want to. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if you don’t return my feelings.”

“I do.”

Jaskier falters as he works on his doublet. “What?”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming about this last night!”

“You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t-of course I didn’t know! Do you think I would have let things get this bad if I did?”

“I figured it was a fleeting thing.”

“Geralt. Look at me.”

Geralt looks him in the eye for the first time that morning.

Jaskier steps closer and takes Geralt’s hands in his. He knows Geralt could pull away if he wanted to, but Jaskier’s grip is sure, despite the way he feels ready to slide out of his skin. “Geralt. I have loved you since we met. Years. My eye is wandering, true...but it has never wavered from you. I just assumed if you wanted me, we would have done something about it by now.”

“A pair of fools.”

“We are. But we can make up for that now. If you’d like.”

Geralt responds by leaning in to catch Jaskier’s lips. It’s even better than the first time, with Geralt in control and cradling his cheek. He’s moved back against the table and eventually breaks for air. 

“We are doing that every morning from now on, hear me?”

Geralt chuckles against his throat. “Demanding.”

“You already know that. And you love it.”

“I do.”

Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and lets himself be drawn in. He still wasn’t keen on drinking any random potions anytime soon, but maybe this particular witch was onto something.

**Author's Note:**

> I am @demisexualgeralt for Witcher stuff, and @wesawbears for multifandom.


End file.
